Again I torture myself with the things that I have to do.
I have visions. I can see pictures, words, kilometers, characters.
The rhythms that I need to create great works
have gone astray in nobody's forest between land of the Big and the pastures T.V. sets.
Am I not alone?
I go away.
She stays and she will be the last to leave.
Once... when she finds out that only he remains without anyone.
I've loved her with with the same harshness with which he's been using her appearance.
We have often been together. the two of us drinking, and she laughing at us.
We have been conjuring up revolutions, winning wars, writing, dancing,
been famous, rich, heroes, vain... and we have been poor.
All of these things we have done, and she laughed.

...but...

When we went away the time was changing. Just like now.
He probably knew that the cities would fade the marks of other cities.
Our words have never been strong enough to start revolutions.
Revolutions which have taken place have not been moved by our words.
Big things which have covered us have taken place because of the flags.
He and I have loathed flags. she laughed at them.
In our eyes the flags burned.

...we had...

I do not count how long he has been away.
The ones with whom I drink know that I do not drink much.
The ones with whom I get drunk know that I do not do that often.
My face
and my head
keep the traces of those meditative moments... They keep blunt scars
which a fair lot of sunny days in year will not be able to hide.
Let them remain an eternal punishment or just small pereverted relations.

...music...

Winter turns into autumn.
Leaning against the old car in the Big alley I wait to keep up with me.
And to take a look at me as well.
As always she walks with time on her hands.
I wonder if her promenade is black and white like mine.
With one leg she seems to move the dead leaves in order not to trod on them with the other. she hypnotizes me in vain.
I will be ready to receive her look when she catches up to me. This is the century of this look.
She reaches me.
She walks past me.
She moves away from me.
She does not even take a look at me. She saw, but did not look.
She has never forgiven me for leting flags take him away.
Black and white remains his, her and my alley.